This ought to keep her busy for a while, she thought hopefully. She had sacrificed one of the precious pieces of plain paper she had brought from Hillcrest for the cause. She had plans for a second prized sheet, which she held in her hand.
“Here, read this, then copy it three times.”
Wells took the paper from her and stared at it, quietly sounding out the words.
This paper is so dear, worried Lydia, gazing at the half-sheet in her hand. I’ll have to think it through carefully before I commit words to it.
As Wells began to slowly write, Lydia thought and thought, occasionally writing down a short line of words, only to pause to think intently again.
At one point, Wells regarded what Lydia held before her and asked, “Is that my lesson for tomorrow?”
“Mmmm…” Lydia responded indistinctly, resisting the urge to throw her hand over the words she had written.
Stop talking to me and focus on your work!
“That looks awful hard.” Wells pursed her lips as she peered at Lydia’s paper. “Are you sure I can manage it?”
“Only if you master that first,” Lydia said brightly, pointing at the poem in Wells’ hand.
Oh, do stop distracting me! Now I have to start again with this line. Let’s see…’An antiquated suitor that disregards…’ No, the meter is off. ’An antiquated suitor that’…that what?
Significant time passed before Wells declared herself finished and laid down to sleep.
Still, it was much later after that when Lydia was finally satisfied with her composition.
Her heart beat faster as she thought through what she hoped to do with the now folded half-sheet of paper. She fell asleep silently reciting the same words over and over.
Attempting to Read in the Maze
~Lydia
At last!
Lydia felt and heard the satisfying crunch of gravel under the thin soles of her shoes.
No dust rags sullying my fingertips. No oily polish rubbing off on my sleeve. No little brushes to scrub all those cracks…at least for this afternoon…
And to think it almost didn’t happen…
The previous morning at the servants’ breakfast, she had been delighted to note Smith’s absence and to hear Cook say that the housekeeper would be going with the Family “to Town” that very afternoon. It seemed that in the rush to ready the Family for removal, Smith had forgotten about the loss of Lydia’s free-afternoon.
Enjoy your venture, you tyrannical old crone, thought Lydia as she headed from the cherry orchard toward the maze.
I’m probably not supposed to come here, she thought, approaching one of the maze’s entrances. But the Family is all away. Of course I’ll tell none of this to Wells.
The yew hedges were considerably larger than they appeared from her attic window. They towered over her head and she suddenly realized that getting to the maze’s center might be more difficult than she had supposed.
At the entrance was a basket full of spools of ribbon. A pole stuck out of the ground next to it.
Perhaps I’ll need one of these.
Grabbing a spool, Lydia tied the loose end of the ribbon to the pole and entered the maze, unfurling it behind her. As it unwound, Lydia saw how frayed and dirty it was. It may have been a lovely shade of rose when new, but now it was a faded burgundy. Her fingers felt grimy from touching it.
Methinks Lady Clyde is unaware that such filth is on her property. What scandal!
Further in she ventured, down green corridor after green corridor, sometimes finding no outlet. She’d turn around and follow her ribbon back until another option presented itself. Here and there were stone statues and benches between hedges. After several moments, Lydia emerged from the maze into its open center. There on the lawn stood an empty fountain, its basin stained and chipped.
Lady Clyde must not ever come here.
The thought was both satisfying and reassuring.
Pleased to find the grass dry, Lydia produced a handkerchief bundle from her pocket and laid down, outstretched on her stomach. Untying the four corners, she laid the cloth next to her and began to eat the cherries it contained, throwing the stones under the nearby hedges.
And now for the greatest pleasure afforded to me on this fine day…
She produced a book from her apron’s pocket.
Finding this volume on the bookshelves had been especially gratifying because she had so enjoyed Pride and Prejudice as well as Northanger Abbey. Now in her hand she held Persuasion.
Oh, Miss Austen, I’m certain we could have been very good friends had you consorted with servants…and had you not died.
She stretched out again on her stomach and began to read.
The heroine, Anne, was just hearing the news that Captain Wentworth might be visiting Kellynch Hall when a melodic whistling alerted Lydia to someone’s approach. She sat bolt upright and looked around.
Sir Jonathan and Master Elliott had just emerged from the maze into its center.
What are they…? Oh, no!
There was no time to hide herself. As for the text in her hand, she instinctively flung it under the nearest stretch of hedge.
That was stupid! she realized immediately. Though the book was well under the bush, she was dismayed to see that a little of the gold foil on the cover was visible from where she sat. A couple of wet cherry stones lay near it.
Oh, no…hopefully they won’t look over there. I could push some leaves around it…no, that would just draw attention to it!
Her heart pounding furiously, she glanced at the cherries.
Those are rightfully mine, she reminded herself. Glaser told me the servants were allowed to pick as many as they could eat.
Feeling more awkward than ever, Lydia rearranged her legs and quietly waited for the boys to notice her.
What ill-fitting part am I required to play in this scenario?
The temptation to simply get up and walk away was there, but she feared looking suspicious.
The elder carried a large book and a small bag. The younger had a red leather ball tucked under his arm.
“Pony!” hollered Elliott as he caught sight of her.
Lydia dipped her head and said nothing, staring at the grass before her.
She began to get up, but Jonathan said, “Don’t let us disturb you.”
Regardless of his words she rose and assumed a servile stance.
“Do you need anything, sir?”
Need anything from me during my one afternoon off this entire week? And please don’t look under any of the hedges!
“No. Please sit.”
To leave now would be a direct contradiction, so she slowly sank to the ground though she knelt rather than sat. The awkwardness she felt was greatly increased when Elliott plopped down on the grass right beside her. She hoped she was positioned to block their view of the poorly hidden book.
With little hesitation, Jonathan sat himself about five feet away and began to remove a number of things from his bag.
Lydia watched as he took the lid off a small bottle and selected a nib for a pen. Her face flushed as she saw that the book he had was none other than his sketchbook. She looked away, wondering about the fate of the little slip of paper she had left inside it days earlier.
Has he even seen it yet? I shouldn’t have put it there! What if he discovered it when his mother or sister was nearby? What if he finds it right now as I’m sitting here? Oh, why was I so ridiculously bold!
When everything was arranged, he glanced toward Lydia.
“You look as if you’re preparing to flee,” he said, his voice low and steady.
“I’m not sure of the propriety of me being here with…” she stopped, realizing that she was explaining what was right and proper to a member of the Family. “That is, I would not have presumed to…”
Her voice dropped off again.
“Truly, you speak nothing like a servant,” he said, dipping his pen i
n the ink bottle. “My brother and I don’t stand by useless rules of conduct. Those are for idiots and idiots alone.”
Elliott, who was looking back and forth between his brother and the maid, nodded sharply, his chin jutting out.
Well, it was your class that wrote those rules…
Lydia cleared her throat lightly. “I understood that the Family had gone to London.”
“Elliott was feeling unwell last night. The Lady was determined not to be thrown off her schedule, so I offered to stay behind with him until he was feeling better.”
“I hate London,” spat the little boy. “The streets are too busy to run in and we hardly ever go to the park. And…”
As Elliott continued to list the deficiencies of the capital, Lydia felt her feet going numb, so she shifted her legs to the side and sat, careful to tuck her skirt about her ankles.
How can I get out of here? But if I go, will they see the book? It would be obvious that I’m the one who put it there. Oh, why didn’t I just put it back into my pocket?
Lydia felt ill.
Wells was right! I could be dismissed. Dear God, I don’t want to go home to Mama with just a few months’ wages and a reputation of thievery.
But it’s just a book! And I wasn’t taking it from the premises. I just wanted to read it. There’s no harm there. But would they see it that way?
Jonathan lifted his sketchbook to his lap, opened it and began to draw.
Lydia cringed, wondering if the half-sheet she’d tucked into it would fall out.
Where is it? Did he find it amusing? Ugh…How different would this occasion be if I were here as myself instead of as a servant?
She envisioned herself leaning over Jonathan’s shoulder, pertly critiquing his sketch and making him laugh.
Don’t be stupid. Even as yourself you wouldn’t be so bold with this fellow.
But oh, that book! Unable to resist, she glanced again where the purloined novel lay under the hedge.
Oh, it’s not too visible, actually. In fact, they’d have to be at just the right angle to…
“You brought cherries,” Elliott interrupted her thoughts, glancing at the ruby fruits on the handkerchief.
“Uhh, yes…Would you like some?” Relieved but still flustered, Lydia felt rather foolish offering them. Her rapid heartrate had begun to slow.
Elliott picked one.
“And you, sir, would you care for some?” she asked, raising her voice, though not looking at Jonathan.
Dear God, please don’t let them throw the stones in the same place I was throwing mine!
She wondered if a cherry stone hitting a leather-bound novel would make a distinctive sound.
Jonathan didn’t pause in his sketching. “I take no pleasure in cherries.”
“What?” Elliott asked, his mouth full. “You must not have had a very good one then. Here, try this one.”
He selected another from Lydia’s handkerchief, staining the cloth with his reddened fingertips, and held it out to Jonathan.
Still intent on the paper before him, Jonathan said, “I was sick once after eating a whole tree full. I haven’t had one since.”
Lydia did not eat any more cherries herself. The thought of digging around to remove a stone from her mouth in front of these Clyde fellows was mortifying, so she sat and watched as Elliott ate one after another of her precious little hoard.
Easy come, easy go.
She held back the sigh that formed in her chest.
“And another thing,” continued Elliott, lifting a finger dripping with juice. “Mama says that I’m old enough to start to enjoy it, says that I’ll make friends there, but I don’t think so. Do servants have friends?”
Jonathan, at this moment said, “Elliott! Stop eating those. She brought them for herself.”
Elliott threw his brother a pout, but neglected to grab another cherry.
“Well, do you?” he asked.
“What?” Lydia asked.
“Do servants have friends?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Who are your friends?”
“Oh, Wells is very nice…and Glaser.”
“Are you Wells’ best friend?“ asked Elliott.
“Hmm…” She thought for a moment, amused at the childish question. “Actually, I’d guess that Wells’ best friend here at Whitehall is a cow.”
“A cow?” asked Elliott, incredulously as Jonathan looked up from his paper. “We keep no cows.”
“Wells is very fond of a cow…when it’s diced in a thick carroty stew and keeping company with a large hunk of fresh bread slathered on both sides with butter.”
“What?” Elliott asked.
Lydia felt Jonathan’s eyes studying her intently and forced her own to remain focused on Elliott. She hoped she wasn’t blushing, seeing that her joke had fallen completely flat.
Ugh…Jack would have understood. Well, Sober Jack would have.
But the two people before her were very different from Jack, Wells, and many other people Lydia knew. To these two, hunger meant the feeling one experienced three hours after breakfast. That was vastly different from the days’ long ache some bellies endured, that sensation that drove all other thoughts from the mind.
“Uh, she…likes beef stew,” she explained, doltishly.
The answer seemed to satisfy Elliott who began to talk of his own favorite foods.
Lydia relaxed slightly when she saw Jonathan’s pen begin to move again.
As Elliott chattered on and on, Lydia felt a familiar twitching behind her eyes and nose.
Oh, no. Not now!
Her hand flew to her face as she sneezed not once, but three times in rapid succession.
Elliott laughed loudly as Lydia felt the wet residue on her hand and face.
Embarrassed, she used her sleeve to dab at the wetness.
Elliott turned to Jonathan. “Aren’t you going to give her a handkerchief?”
“What?” Jonathan laughed.
“Mama says that a proper gentleman always has a handkerchief ready to offer a lady,” Elliott explained, seriously.
“I haven’t got a clean one.” Jonathan replied flatly, continuing to draw.
And I am not a lady worthy of such niceties, Lydia thought, relieved to see that no sputum had spattered across her bodice.
Ugh, I just want to get away from here. But…the book!
Again, she glanced in its direction. How can I possibly get it back? Perhaps it’s far enough under the hedge as to be reached from the other side?
“If you don’t need anything, I ask that you please excuse me,” she said, collecting her things and rising from the ground.
Jonathan waved his hand dismissively and Lydia began to leave.
“Don’t go!” called Elliott.
“Sorry,” she said over her shoulder, retrieving the leading ribbon from the ground where she had left it.
“I command you to stay!” he cried out.
“Don’t be so despotic, Elly. Really…” She heard Jonathan’s voice through the shrubbery of the maze.
“Don’t call me that! Now who will play catch with me?”
“I might if you stop whining. I’m nearly done with this. Just a moment.”
Once safely hidden in one of the maze’s alleyways, Lydia barely kept herself from breaking into a run as she wound the grimy ribbon around its spool.
At least there’s no gravel here to proclaim my every step.
When she reached the spot where she supposed she might be able to retrieve the book, she knelt and looked under the shrubbery. Gnarled roots and low lying branches blocked her view. The novel was nowhere in sight.
How am I to get that back? My one free afternoon is sunny and perfect and then it’s taken over by a prattling, fruit-stealing boy and his peculiar older brother. In my one attempt to say something amusing, I made myself look like a complete fool. And what if it rains before I can get that book back?
With her stomach ch
urning, Lydia headed back to the house.
Finding a Furtive Poem
~ Jonathan
Lifting the pen from the page, Jonathan watched the girl disappear into the maze. Though uninvited, the vision of her, sitting on the lawn at his arrival returned to him. Again, he chided himself for the way his stomach had flipped as he emerged from the maze’s alleys to see her there. He was certain the rush of inappropriate and happy surprise he felt had registered on his face.
Thank God Sophia wasn’t here to see it.
He had tried to offset this by speaking diffidently to her once he had settled himself on the grass.
Would she have stayed longer had I been friendlier? Bah! She’s a maid!
Carelessly, he turned the page before him, no longer pretending to care about the drawing on it.
Her neck is rather long. Is that how I drew it?
He flipped through his sketchbook to find his drawing of Foote returning Spalding’s teeth.
Hmm…he thought, looking at the depiction. It’s not one of my better…but what’s this?
A little slip of paper was tucked into the fold of the book.
“You said you’d play catch with me!” Elliott interrupted.
“Umm…” Jonathan grabbed the ball from Elliott’s hand and tossed it over the top of the hedges.
“There you are,” he said, then lifted the scrap and unfolded it.
“Jonathan!” Elliott cried, exasperated as he ran off. “That’s not funny!”
True, dear brother, he thought looking down at the paper, but it ought to buy me some time. Incredulously, he realized what it was.
The maid is hiding secretive messages in my things! The ridiculousness of it nearly made him laugh.
Upon the paper was written in pencil:
The ancient beaux who choose to woo
All must remember as they chew
That teeth untethered within gums
May fall to floors like dinner crumbs
An antiquated suitor that
Ignores this lesson may not get
Another invitation for
A meal spent as a paramour
For slick with thick archaic spit
And crusted o’er with ample grit
A set of gnashers dropping thus
Could dissuade the most amorous
Jonathan sat, stunned.
Incredible. Did she pen this herself? She couldn’t have!
He read it over again.
It’s so precisely right for the drawing, she must have.